Claimed By My Billionaire Ex

Chapter 17

OLIVE

The next morning, I woke with my arms stretched across Lucas's side of the bed. It was empty, the sheets cold. My eyes opened. Had he really worked all night? The hum of the shower made me sit up. Maybe I just hadn't heard him come in.

I was a fairly light sleeper, but then again, his mattress was softer than anything I'd ever slept on, and the sense of security and safety that had developed within me since arriving at the Penthouse had definitely led to better sleep.

The shower shut off, and the door opened in a burst of steam. Lucas stepped out, wrapped in a towel. When he spotted me, he shuffled to a stop.

"Oh, hey, I didn't know you were awake."

I chuckled and yawned, stretching my hands over my head. "I wasn't. I just woke up."

He smiled but there was some tension in his face, and his eyes averted my gaze. Rolling to the side of the bed, I reached over and grabbed his hands.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He kissed my forehead, and then crossed to the master closet. "Work just kicked my ass last night. And we have a long day ahead. The press conference is at four, right after we pick up Claire from school."

Stifling my groan, I fell back onto the bed. "But we can lounge around until then right?"

"Oh, no," Lucas called. "You have your makeover today."

I bolted up from bed. "My what?"

Lucas peeked his head out of the closet, a playful smirk on his face. "Don't worry, you're going to love it."

"I hate it."

Behind me, Lucas chuckled. "You have to open your eyes first, Olive."

I clenched my eyes tighter, gripping the armrests of the salon chair. "I don't want to."

Hands gripped mine, spinning the chair around. "Olive, look at me."

Peeling my eyes slowly open, I peered at Lucas, who was crouched in front of me. "I'd think you're beautiful even if you were bald, okay?"

My hands shot up to my hair. "Oh my God, am I bald?"

Lucas chuckled. He stepped sideways, revealing the mirror behind him.

I didn't even recognize myself. The stylist had added sun kissed highlights to my dirty blonde locks. Instead of a cheap trim to chop off dead ends—my usual go to—I now had an actual haircut, complete with layers that framed my face, accentuating my cheeks, and making my eyes pop.

"Damn."

Lucas grinned. "Told you." He squeezed my hand. "I need to go meet with Jessie, but I have a stylist waiting for you, and then I'll have my driver pick up Claire so she can meet us at the press conference."

"Actually, I'd like to pick her up. I swore to myself that I would never become one of those moms who sends a driver or a nanny to pick her up."

"I get that. At least let my driver take you, okay? It's just easier that way."

I smiled at him. "Compromise it is."

What I had thought would be a quick shopping trip for one outfit turned into a scene out of Pretty Woman, the one where Julia Roberts is given an unlimited credit card. The only difference is that I looked nothing like a movie star. Quite the opposite.

Yet, my stylist, a petite brunette named Cathy, treated me as if I was royalty. With each measurement she took, she threw in unnecessary compliments that made warmth rush to my cheeks.